Dolores Demented
by Right What Is Wrong
Summary: Dolores Umbridge is a half-blood, but not in the way anyone thinks. [Oneshot. Crack.]


**Author's Note** : Inspired by one of EdStargazer's Tales From The Cutting-Room Floor.

* * *

Dolores Umbridge crouched behind her desk... admittedly a bit of a feat there, but that was why it was such a large and sturdy desk. All around her office, she heard screaming. The Ministry was falling.

Defend it? What? Her? Not a chance! As though she would ever stick out her neck for her miserable colleagues...

The screams were abruptly choked off as a cold feeling swept through her office, growing stronger as the rolling wave of silence progressed down the corridor outside. Her eyes wide, Dolores shivered and peeked over her desk, wand in hand...

The door to her office flew open, and dark-robed, hooded figures glided in. They advanced toward her desk, rotting arms outstretched...

"Cousin!" she squealed, stumbling up and gathering one into a crushing hug. "I thought I felt you coming!"

It squirmed a bit and extricated itself from her embrace. ]Good to see you too, Cousin Dolly[, it replied. The other Dementors were gliding around her office, inspecting the decorations. ]You have dined well.[

"But of course," she said proudly, patting the rolls around her waist. "You simply wouldn't believe how much happiness you can drain as a Ministry official! Especially under someone as weak-willed and corrupt as darling Cornelius." She smiled, then scowled. "That terrible Scrimgeour curtailed my fun, even if he couldn't kick me out entirely, with all my contacts. I do hope one of you ate him."

There was a brief interval of silent communication. ]We have not consumed the soul of anyone by that name[, replied her cousin. Dolores pouted.

"Oh well. Maybe you'll get him later." A smile wormed across her face. "Cornelius's era ended on a delicious note, however! How many of you heard I was Headmistress of Hogwarts? I stayed on for almost an entire year!"

Stirring from her kin. ]Did Dumbledore not die only a few months past?[ a distant relative inquired, one putrescent finger hovering over one of her fine china plates adorned with kittens. Felines spoke to her at a deep spiritual level: she related fully to the way they played with their food.

"He was briefly sacked," Dolores explained, "and I was appointed to fill his space." She giggled. "Oh, the fun I had! The feast! My dear kindred, I _became_ the worst memory of so many fresh, impressionable children..."

The Dementors hummed appreciatively; the ones who had been put on Hogwarts duty four years ago had eaten unusually well, even as restricted as they were. If anything, that had enhanced it; even tasting of succulent, bright-eyed young things was more filling than chewing over worn-out prisoners year after year. New inmates provided better sustenance... for the few weeks they lasted before their metamorphosis into spiritual jerky.

"Why," she said with a conspiratorial wink, "if I'd had a little longer, I might even have broken Harry Potter."

That brought fresh murmuring from her kin. ]Harry Potter? He of the Patronus of One Hundred?[ her cousin asked at last.

"The very same." Her smile broadened. "He was causing so much trouble for dear Cornelius that I had more than enough excuse to make him simply miserable. Oh, what fun it was to watch the hope die in his eyes, week after week... Sometimes I wondered whether, if one of you walked into my office in the middle of one of my little detentions, he would have even put up a fight..."

Yes, if only those damned centaurs hadn't recognized her for what she was and performed a rite to bind her so long as she remained within the walls of Hogwarts... She would have remained permanently incapacitated if the school nurse hadn't eventually given up and sent her off to Saint Mungo's. As surely as she was Dolores Umbridge, one of the edicts she would see passed under the Dark Lord's Ministry, no matter how many years it took, would be to have those wretched nags chopped up and sold as horsemeat!

She shook herself and continued. "I do believe I had a little to do with his snapping and running off into an ambush at this very Ministry, which resulted in the death of Sirius Black," she continued, garnering more appreciative murmurs: her brethren resented Black, who had somehow retained enough sanity to provide decent sustenance, yet managed to cheat them all of it. "He left all his possessions to Potter, I've heard - they must have been close." She giggled. "Certain students at Hogwarts reported that Potter looked like death afterwards," she confided. "I almost hoped he'd been utterly broken... but I daresay he was never the same again."

No more Dumbledore's Army, no more rabble-rousing... She had crushed him just in time. Edgecombe said he'd been teaching students the Patronus Charm - The mere thought made her inwardly tremble. A nation of competent wizards and witches, capable of fending off her kin's attacks! If only she could have extracted their names from the girl, so that the dangerous children could be "disappeared"...

Oh well. At least she had halted the epidemic of Patronus-wielders before it spread beyond Potter's little study group, and Potter himself had halted his efforts to educate any more. That seemed as good an outcome as could be hoped for.

The Dementors nodded in approval beneath their cloaks. ]But on to more personal matters[, remarked her... Aunt? Uncle? She really wasn't sure... ]When can we expect little Dollies?[

Dolores spread her hands. "I've already devoured enough happiness," she explained, "but, alas, I am partly human, and I need to find a good wizard." She primped a little and smiled. "I understand some of you have been working with the Dark Lord's men lately! Tell me, gave you met any particularly soul-sucking wizards in his service? Any men who can drain all happiness, all joy, from others just through their sheer presence?"

As they settled down to chat and offer their personal recommendations, Dolores reflected there was nothing quite like family.

Well, and the distant background music of human screams.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : The details of Umbridge's conception are left as an exercise to the reader.

Though I couldn't quite fit it in, she doesn't actually hate Muggleborns and "half-breeds". They're just the easiest to prey upon given the existing prejudices of Wizarding Britain.


End file.
